Page 26 of The Tattered Gloves
IT DIDN’T TAKE long for Allison to hear about my altercation with Sam, and although she emphasized that it hadn’t been necessary — not bothering to give any further details on the matter — she did decide that me standing up for her meant we were officially friends.
Besties.
What a stupid word.
“So, now, you must go to the homecoming dance with me. I don’t want to bring a date. So, we can go together. Please say yes,” she begged as we sat together at lunch.
Yep, she’d even managed to coerce me into having lunch in the cafeteria as well.
Pissing off my boss, causing drama, making friends — it had been a big week for me.
The idea of going to a dance sounded like my own personal version of hell. But the way Allison’s face lit up when she asked me to go with her? It made me want to say yes.
I wasn’t a total freak. I’d had friends before in my life — mostly when I was younger and a bit more naive to what went on in my house. In second grade, there was Maria. Her father had split when she was a baby, so we’d found common ground there.
But that was where the commonality had ended.
Her mother was a nurse, and Maria would sometimes come to school crying because of the late hours her mom worked.
“She didn’t tuck me in,” she’d complained.
It was a tough life, growing up with a single parent.
I couldn’t help but notice, even then, the differences between her family and mine. No matter how little her mother was around, the love she had for Maria was evident.
Little notes in her lunchbox. Days off spent together.
I’d tried not to be jealous of Maria. After all, life was hard for everyone in one way or another, but by the time we were in middle school, Maria’s mother had remarried, and they’d moved away.
I had been left behind, stagnant.
Never moving forward.
Until now.
“Sure,” I finally said. “I’ll go to the dance with you, but I have one request,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t say no.
“Anything,” she nearly squealed.
“Can we get ready at my house?”
“CAN YOU SAY that again?” Addy asked, her eyes filled with surprise at my sudden request.
We’d just settled into a lively evening of crafting and silent TV-watching when I sprang my rather odd question at her.
“I’m going to the dance,” I said once again. “And I need a dress.”
I thought the shock from my words may have caused a brain malfunction in my poor aunt because the stupid felt rose she had been working on suddenly fell from her hands, unraveling from the tight bundle she’d created.
“That’s… great,” she finally uttered. “Do you have a date?”
Her words were timid, causing the teenager in me to want to roll my eyes.
“No,” I sighed. “Just me and a friend. I was actually going to have her come over here to get ready, if that’s okay?”
She excitedly bobbed her head up and down. “Yes, absolutely. I can do your hair if you want — both of you.”
“I’m not sure how formal it is, but I know Allison wouldn’t mind the attention,” I answered, seeing how happy this entire conversation was making her.
